


Making Out: not just for stoners anymore!

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Marijuana, Requited Love, Transgender, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of Ryan's dreams require making a scene to come true. He has to make a scene to get Pete Wentz's attention. He has to make a scene to get his father to give him a loan for university. He has to make a scene to get an audience to love them. He's not sure why it's a surprise that he has to make a scene to get Spencer to understand who he really is, and why he can't kiss him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Out: not just for stoners anymore!

Ryan’s straight.

Spencer’s gay.

In nearly every situation this would be no big deal. It’s not 1969. Spencer doesn’t need to fight for his rights and to throw bricks at cops as the bar burns down, Ryan the token beside him. It’s not 1998. They’re not a half an hour sitcom on NBC; two roommates that critique each other’s dates but never really quite get each other’s lifestyle choices. It’s 2004, and to the general public there’s no issue with people of different orientations being friends.

In Ryan’s life, these two facts are complicated. Vastly complicated. Complicated enough there’s a whole notebook of songs that even Pete Wentz will never get to see.

It comes up more than he’d like it to. Every time they get stoned, Spencer wants to make out - not necessarily with him. As far as Ryan knows Spencer doesn’t like him the way he likes Spencer. Spencer’s a bit of a lipslut when he’s got THC running through him. If it’s all of Panic! smoking after practice Spencer will ask the room, Brent or Brendon equally. If they smoke up before they go to a youth club or a concert Ryan can usually find him at the side of the pit, or against the wall with some skinny boy with a studded belt and a fauxhawk. 

It’s another evening at the Smiths. When he gets up to go to the bathroom the hall is a symphony of sounds. He can hear Crystal and Jackie listening to some Disney sponsored band in their bedroom. Mr Smith is sealing his sandwiches for the work week in vacuum packaging in the kitchen, Mrs Smith is watching Law and Order and shouting the important plot points to her husband. As far back as he can remember, he’s never seen more than two of them in the same room. It’s not dysfunctional, it’s not that they don’t acknowledge each other. They just choose to have conversations by shouting their thoughts across the house instead of going to the same room.

In the Ross household, shouted conversations mean something different.

The bathroom is what Ryan would consider a necessary reminder. After all, look at what happened to Joe the Narrator when he lost his self awareness. He pisses facing the toilet and the mirror above it. The mirror stretches the length of the back wall, at least five feet wide. He doesn’t break his gaze as he washes his hands with the honey vanilla scented soap. He wrings his hands as he mentally sings the alphabet, like he was taught in the two hours of training for his vet job years ago. He likes to know his hands are clean.

When he gets back to the room Spencer has his face pressed against the wire mesh of his screen window. The attempt to blow the smoke out of his room is defeated by the smoke still curling off the bowl of the pipe.

“I told you, use the laundry thing.”

“I dunno where I put it,” he answers, his voice croaky with dryness.

Ryan finds it in about two seconds. It’s not particularly difficult to find. It’s at the back of Spencer’s closet, under a pile of discarded jeans. Spencer keeps all his paraphernalia in the dark corners of his closet. If Ryan had parents that cared, he’d probably attempt to think of a better hiding spot. Maybe one of those modified soda cans with screw off tops that they sell in smoke shops. But for as much as Spencer’s parents genuinely care about him, they’re naive and think their sweet suburban son wouldn’t do drugs. That, or they’re willing to let some things slide. If it’s the second, Ryan figures the least they owe them is to pretend that Spencer’s not doing anything. And that is best achieved by the laundry tube. It’s just a toilet paper roll, with a freezer sheet attached to the bottom with electrical tape.

“Exhale into this.” Spencer takes another hoot and does as he says. The smoke is as white-grey as ever, but now it smells like Tide.

They pass the pipe back and forth until there's nothing but white ash and one blackened seed in the bottom of the bowl. Spencer turns the pipe upside down and grinds the ash into the carpet with a socked foot. Ryan can see where it would be awkward to have an ashtray on his nightstand, but he still thinks it would be better if Spencer kept a tupperware container for ash in his closet and emptied it when necessary instead of getting it deep into the fibres of the carpet. Sooner or later his room is going to start smelling, or he’ll dump it when it’s not quite done smoldering and get a scorch mark.

“XBox or a movie? Or we could do Playstation 2 if we begged, probably. Maybe.” Ryan notices with a smirk that Spencer left out Gamecube. He must be fighting with his sisters. The XBox was paid for by Spencer so it sits in his room, and the same goes with the girls and the Gamecube, but normally they don’t have a problem trading if they want to try each other’s games. The Playstation sits in the living room, and as prime time has just started, Ryan heavily doubts Spencer’s claim that they’ll be able to use it.

“You’ve only had Halo 2 for a month. As if you want to play anything except XBox.”

“Be nice to the guests, right? That includes giving options.”

“Yeah yeah. Gimme the controller.”

Spencer doesn’t have to put in the game, it’s still in the console. He hands Ryan the normal controller, he likes playing with his old school fatty controller. “Normal or Heroic?”

“Might as well play Legendary and die in five seconds. You realise you smoked more of that bowl than me, right?”

“Normal it is.”

They’re still going to die horribly, Ryan’s sure of it. It’s as certain as Spencer leaning in for that kiss Ryan can’t return. It’s just a matter of what happens first. This time the Covenant wipes them out in less time than it would take to bake a cake. Spencer goes back to the first menu to start another round and while it’s loading he turns on the mattress. The movement makes his shorts ride up his legs. Spencer has very nice thighs. “You wanna-”

He cuts him off. “Not really, Spence.”

“It doesn’t make you gay. I swear. Pete makes out with dudes. I bet other dudes do it too. It can just be practice. Or, like, to impress scene girls with your cred. I know you want a hot scene girlfriend.”

Ryan is never going to have a girlfriend.

Spencer presses the point. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about kissing a guy?”

Ryan doesn’t know what makes him snap. He’s thought about saying something a million times. If not to the whole fucking universe - he has had his high school fantasies of hijacking a sound system and informing everyone in the school – then at least to Spencer. He’s always envisioned them sitting down, talking seriously. He’s read his fair share of How To Come Out advice, he always thought he’d follow one of the plans pretty closely. Instead it’s like an explosion. He can’t think of a single How To that recommended screaming at your best friend, and yet that’s what happens. 

“Of course I want to! I’m straight!”

Spencer shakes his head, hair curling around ears as it falls. “I just told you that doesn’t matter. Who cares if you’re straight, if you want to.”

“Oh for fucksakes. _Because_ , not _but_. I want to kiss guys because I’m straight.”

Spencer sits up, spine perfectly straight the way it was that one time they had to sit in the police station and wait for a set of parents to come get them. His reasoning probably isn’t so Ryan can give him the full force of his glare, but Ryan can’t stop himself. It’s a defence against whatever stupid thing he knows Spencer is about to say. 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

It really pisses Ryan off that that’s the best Spencer can do. Spencer’s the one that went to a public school. He got sex ed., unlike Ryan. He should know this shit without Ryan having to elucidate.

“It does when you’re a fucking girl, with an unfortunate fucking dick.”

“What?” He couldn’t look more confused if Ryan said he had a secret twin locked in the attic. 

“It’s called transgendered. Go Wiki it. Don’t call me until you’ve read and understood. This is a very fucking important test of reading comprehension.”

Leaving Spencer stunned into stillness on his green duvet, Ryan walks with controlled slowness to the front door and jams his shoes on. He’s got other stuff here, A toothbrush in the bathroom, a change of clothes in one of Spencer’s dresser drawers, DVDs beside the tv. It’s not quite as much as he’s got in his dorm at school, but he can stay a few nights if it came down to it. He can leave it all, sacrifice those items to be able to leave quickly. He doesn’t want to be asked questions. Not from Spencer. The rest of the world can ask questions, but Spencer needs to understand. Ryan will just stay away until he does.

The question is, if he doesn’t stay with Spencer, where does he go?

He could go back to college. He’s still got his room. He hasn’t dropped out yet, though with the way things are, he probably will. Spencer and Brent are in line to graduate in January. He has to show he’s just as committed.

The problem with going back to U of N is that seems like running away. Ryan doesn’t run away from things. If he did, he would have spent his entire childhood at Spencer’s, instead of just a night or two a week. Besides, he told his roommate he’d have the room to himself for the holidays. Ryan’s got no doubt Anthony and his girlfriend are planning on using the room as a love shack, coming up occasionally for air and food.

With that ruled out, there are only a few more options. He’s only got so many people willing to lend a bed. Ryan’s got less than zero interest in going to his father’s house. Brent might be good for overnight, but he’ll have to ask his parents, and the Wilsons don’t like him as much as the Smiths do. If Trevor’s back for the holidays he might be able to crash with him. He didn’t really hold a grudge about the being kicked out of Summer League thing. But his best bet is Brendon. Brendon likes him as much as Spencer and Brent, and it doesn’t matter that the Uries don’t like him, because the Uries don’t currently like Brendon either.

Ryan double checks the address then goes to Brendon’s newest Smoothie Hut. He’s been relocated twice. Ryan likes this location best. It’s the first one that has its own store, the other two were in malls. Having its own parking lot makes parking a lot easier, mall parking tends to be fucking ridiculous. Brendon likes Crestview because the tips are better. The people that come to this location come specifically to spend money on smoothies instead of just walking by and being caught by colourful signage, and part of that money goes into the tip cup. Ryan would bet it’s the same for an individual location Starbucks compared to the one in the mall.

Brendon’s at the till when he walks in, door tinkling cheerfully. It’s nice to see him there, it makes Ryan’s life easier. Brendon is a jack of all trades when it comes to slurried fruit, he can fill any position up to the shit that only the manager is supposed to do, like final cash. He’s got a line of customers, so Ryan holds back. He sits on one of the tropical upholstered chairs and waits for the crowd to go away. The whirs of the blender constantly drown out the happy radio music, but Ryan doesn’t much care for Beyonce anyway. His cell shows five unanswered calls from Spencer. With a sigh he sends back **Told you I don’t want to talk until you research.** Spencer should know how Google works. He’s seventeen years old, not a senior citizen.

Finally there’s a break, and Ryan can head up to the counter. “A strawberry cookie, please.” Of all the healthy cookies the store sells, the strawberry are by far his favourite.

“Hey Ryan. What’s up? We don’t have practice or anything?” Brendon sounds distinctly stressed, even though he’s trying to hide it with a ‘the customer is always right’ smile. Ryan understands the strain he’s been under recently. Travelling to Los Angeles to do guest vocals was a reward for Brendon, proof that it’s all been worth it. That doesn’t take away from the fact that he has to juggle school, practice, and a nearly full time evening job.

“No, just need a quiet place for a bit.”

Brendon hands him the cookie. It doesn’t look anything like a strawberry cookie should, no pink dye or cookie cutter shape or icing leaf on the top. Really, it looks decidedly unappetizing. No frills- price you pay when you want healthy snacks.

“You really mean Spencerless. The last time you wanted to hang out quietly with me was when you found out Spencer was bailing on auditioning for babysitting. But I’ll bother you about that later. Don’t really have time to have it out now, the evening rush is pretty steady. For now my store is your store. Amanda is manager tonight, she won't care.”

Ryan finds himself in the back, after a while. They’ve got an entire section just for cutting down the cardboard boxes the fruit comes in. Some of them are fairly large, like the orange box. Without checking for the quality of the last mop job Ryan lies on the floor and sticks his head in a box. The warm air of his breath bounces off the cardboard and touches his face each time he exhales.

That’s where Brendon finds him. Ryan doesn’t know how long he’s been thinking, or how many times Amanda has stepped over him, seemingly not caring. Considering one time Brent was hanging out here and saw her doing a line of coke, she probably just assumes he’s coming down off a trip or something. Ryan wouldn’t know. He and Spencer and Brendon and Brent smoke pot, and his dad is an alcoholic. That’s as far as the substances go. Brendon doesn’t sound ridiculing, just a little confused. “What are you doing?”

“Pretending I’m in a cryogenic space chamber, and I’m going to another galaxy.”

“Which galaxy?”

His sleeves drag on the tile as he shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Anywhere but here.”

“Do you really hate it here that much?”

Ryan has no doubt that Brendon thinks he’s talking about Summerlin. It’s no secret to anyone that Ryan wants to get the fuck out of Nevada. He wants to travel the world, and make everyone listen to his music and to analyze what he’s saying using Brendon’s voice, and to guess at the things he’s not. But hate is a strong word. “Not really. I just know it’s not where I’m supposed to be.”

“Where are you supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s when Brendon picks up that this isn’t the normal fuck Summerlin rant. If it was, he’d have listed New York, or Miami, or London. Ryan doesn’t have to pull the box off his head to feel Brendon’s shift from ‘yes, Summerlin blows’ sympathizers to active participant in the conversation.

“Well, then how do you know that you’re not supposed to be here?”

“Don’t you ever feel like you just don’t fit in to your own skin, and there’s a new life, a new adventure waiting out there somewhere, if only you can find it? Don’t you ever feel like if only you could go out and explore, that everything will be okay, and you’ll find yourself?”

“No.”

Well, shit. Obviously this isn’t a conversation Ryan will be having with Brendon. He thought, sometimes, that Brendon might listen, if he ever decided to tell him. Maybe not understand completely, but at least get that Ryan’s really unhappy, so unhappy sometimes he just wants to scream and take a razor to the parts he’s not supposed to have. Something in the way Brendon sings his lyrics. But if he can’t even get through the intro, it’s clearly not meant to be.

“Oh.” Time to stop hiding and be a man. Literally. Ryan sits and takes the sweet smelling box off his head before throwing it in the general direction of the stack behind him.

“Hey. Don’t look like that. Here.” Brendon holds out his hand, but there’s nothing in it.

“What?”

“Take my hand, you dork. You want adventure you have to go find it. We’re going to go find some adventure.”

Ryan waits a second for him to officially clock out. It’s a simple process, comparatively. Brendon has a swipe card. At Ryan’s last job he used to have to write his clock in and clock out times on a sheet tacked to a bulletin board, and make the supervisor initial.

They’re out the back door before Ryan snarks. The sarcasm makes him feel a little more in control of his stupid emotional outburst. It’s the kind of thing that belong in a lyric, or a stoned ramble, not in the middle of the evening while hiding like a child. “Let the adventure begin!”

Brendon crosses his arms. Ryan would bet the smooth slide of his limbs against his flat chest doesn’t bother him. Ryan doesn’t like crossing his arms. When he needs an authoritarian position, hands on hips is better. “Fine. You just watch.”

Brendon leads him to one of the newspaper boxes near the bus stop a little down the block. There are two pay newspapers, and one free box. It’s easily the most entertaining paper, all arts and conspiracies. He takes out a paper and Ryan watches as he sits on the gritty sidewalk and starts folding a sheet.

“Are you making a paper hat?”

Brendon doesn’t even look up from the print. “The first rule of Adventure Time is no asking questions about Adventure Time.”

“I know you didn’t read the book, so don’t even start.”

“I’ve seen the movie!”

“That doesn’t count. They changed the ending. They made Tyler weak. They gave the narrator a name.” While Ryan appreciates that they made a movie of one of his favourite books, there’s no question it had major failures within it.

“You’re such a canon stickler. Good thing you’re not into the Harry Potter movies. Azkaban was a fucking mess.”

When Brendon opens the triangle and puts it on his head there’s suddenly no question it’s a ridiculous newspaper hat. Brendon makes a second one. For a long moment Ryan considers refusing to wear it, but he’s really not into the idea of killing Brendon’s joy. Lately Brendon’s been running on fumes of caffeine and dregs of enthusiasm. He puts on the hat.

Ryan figures Brendon will head for the car, but when he walks in the opposite direction, Ryan follows. Brendon doesn’t stop until they’re in front of a strip mall that ends with an arcade taking two sets of doors. “Just remember; act as ridiculous as possible.”

Ryan doubts that’ll be hard. He’s wearing a freakin’ paper hat.

Brendon walks directly to the DDR section. There are three of the machines, all of them occupied; one by the stereotypical asians, one by the equally stereotypical goths, the third by a few more teenagers. “Which one of yar scurvy dogs dare challenge Brendon Bluebeard, pirate of the dancing seas?”

Ryan can’t do this. He can’t add to this. The best he can do is turn bright red and not will himself to melt into the floor.

It’s the goth with the pink tips of hair that answers Brendon. “Oh yeah? If you’re a pirate, where’s the eyepatch? Or the pegleg?”

“Arrrgh! When the shark that bit me leg off saw me dancing with the speed of a splintery god, verily did he regurgitate me limb. The doc stitched it back on! I aim to dance again, now!”

Verily isn’t even a pirate word. It’s Shakespearian. Ryan may die.

Brendon on the other hand, maintains his insanity, and a moment later the pink haired goth pushes her white haired friend off the left half of the platform. “Brendon Bluebeard, I’m Jolly Kelly Killhook, and I want to dance with you.”

They stay nearly an hour, until the arcade closes. In all that time, the only money Ryan’s spent is buying a few serves of nachos for the four of them. The goths, Kelly and Adam, have spent way more money letting them join in the games.

Ryan only takes the hat off once he’s in the car. It’s ripping at the seams after all the vigorous movement. When he looks in the rearview to back out of the now empty smoothie lot he’s got black smudges on his forehead from the print. “Thanks. That was-”

“An amazing adventure. I know. I’m awesome. You’re welcome.”

There are no parking lots near Brendon’s building. Ryan’s not surprised. Having a bunch of cars in Brendon’s area of town on one stretch of asphalt is basically asking for some thug to put up a used cars for sale sign. Ryan parks where he’ll be able to see his car out Brendon’s window. He knows he can, the first time he parked he made Spencer go upstairs and call him and tell him from where to where he could still see it. It might not be the best car in the world, but it’s his, and no little asshole is going to jack it.

“What kind of other body?” Brendon asks as they’re climbing the stairs to the third floor. Even if the apartment building had an elevator, Ryan wouldn’t trust it to not plummet. He’s watched Mythbusters with Mr Smith more times than he can count, he knows that jumping up when an out of control elevator lands still results in a hideously broken Buster.

“Hmm?”

“You know. Earlier. You didn’t actually say what kind of body and adventure you want.”

Ryan didn’t figure on Brendon being so perceptive.

“Do you want to be a cyborg made for breathing Jupiter’s atmosphere? A black man during the civil rights movement? A mind-linked soulmate to a dragon like Eragon?”

This is the moment in which Ryan has to decide. He can think of an excuse, a way of hiding, and hope Spencer won’t betray him by saying something in front of someone else. If Spencer even hangs out with them anymore, there’s always the possibility that he’s completely horrified about what Ryan told him a few hours ago. Or he can tell Brendon the same thing he told his other best friend. There’s a reason he always imagined telling Spencer first. Brendon doesn’t have the face for serious secrets. But the way he sings his lyrics, it makes Ryan believe.

“I want to be a girl.”

“Really?” He twists around, hand still on the key that’s in the lock to check if he’s joking. He must be able to read Ryan’s expression, he answers himself. “Huh. Can I like, ask-?”

Ryan can’t really direct Brendon to Wikipedia. Internet isn’t something Brendon can afford, not when he wants to have running water and electricity and food and a bus pass. Brent tried to find open wi-fi to piggyback onto, but as far as Ryan knows, he was unsuccessful.

“Just don’t be a dumbass.” It’s the least he can demand, and he’s doubtful he’ll even get that.

He crosses the tiny room to Brendon’s battered loveseat and sits down, adjusting the sleeping bag slipcover under him. Without it - and the pillow crammed under the right cushion - the seat would be too uncomfortable to sit on. Brendon sits beside him, the dimensions of the couch forcing their hips to touch.

“I won’t.”

Brendon’s looking at the floor. He’s not even looking at him. Ryan could understand a good stare-fest, but this determination to not make eye contact pisses him off. “So ask.”

“Do you mean in your next life it’s totally girl time? Or like, changing now?”

“Perfect world, I wake up tomorrow with breasts, a vagina, and no facial hair.”

“You don’t have any now!” Brendon’s smile slips off when Ryan doesn’t match him. “Sorry. This is me, continuing to not be a dumbass.”

It took one sentence for Brendon to make a joke. Ryan decides to give him one more chance. “It’s kinda fucked up though. Before I have any kind of surgery-”

“You want surgery? Um, I’m allowed to interrupt, right? As long as it’s not stupid?”

“Yeah. And yes, I want top and bottom surgery. I don’t really need facial feminization. But before I can have any of that I need hormone therapy, and a real life test.”

“Is that what it sounds like?”

“If it sounds like I have to live as a woman for at least a year to prove I’m committed, then it sounds right.”

Brendon scratches himself absentmindedly. “So if it’s gonna take so long, why didn’t you start when you were in high school? I mean Gorman probably would have tried to kick you out, but you could have pulled a Marc Hall or something. Or just gone to my school.”

He means well. Ryan knows he does. But how can he not get it? “How many major labels want to sign a trans band? And I know you and Spencer and Brent are manly men. Or, well, at least cisgendered boys. But that wouldn’t matter at all to someone trying to describe us to their boss.”

“So what? You’re just going to never switch over?”

“Transition. And I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t think Pete would care.”

“Maybe not. But Decaydance is not a one man show. It’s just a split off of Fueled By Ramen. Which is part of Warner and Atlantic Records. Pete’s our boss, or would be, if we ever get officially signed. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have ten bosses himself.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“What?”

Brendon rolls his eyes. “Oh shut up, _what_. I know you have a plan, Ryan Ross. You always do. You had a plan to get us listened to, you have a plan to get the hell away from your dad, and you have a plan to transition.”

“We’ll get signed. We will, with a CD deal, and recording time, and a tour. And the contract might have a behaviour clause, but I’m sure that’s stuff like cocaine and hookers. The three of you will dress kind of femme. Nothing new or shocking, you and Spence do anyway. And I’ll dress fully female, and with the unisex name they’ll have to Google just to figure out what gender I am. So there’s me logging my RLT, and there’s the band’s Myspace being hit again and again.”

Of course that’s all best case scenario. But just like Brendon can’t afford to think about anything except being on stage when he’s writing an essay while standing at the cash register before he goes home for a spotty sleep because his neighbours won’t stop screaming at each other and brandishing homemade weapons, Ryan can only let himself think of wearing a white dress and red bolero jacket covered in silk roses singing backup. Better If You Do will sound just as good when he takes his vocal training and teaches himself how to have a more feminine sounding voice.

They talk for a bit longer, and then just as Ryan’s beginning to think of himself as an after school special Brendon yawns deeply, then says he needs to crash.

“I think it’s only eleven thirty.”

Brendon snorts. “You might not have to do anything tomorrow, but I have a morning shift. If you want a spot on the bed you should claim it now. I spread out when I’m sleeping.”

Ryan knows it to be true. They’ve had sleepovers before, and by morning Brendon’s always on his stomach in starfish position. Normally it’s in Spencer’s living room, with enough room for them all to spread out. He eyeballs the mattress. It’s a twin. Technically two people can use it, but it’ll be close. A bed is better than the floor though, so he lies down beside him. He can feel the square grid of wire press into his back. It’s not the most uncomfortable surface Ryan’s slept on, but it’s close.

There’s just enough room for Brendon to lay on his stomach beside Ryan, who’s looking at the ceiling. Instead he lays on his left side, facing him. “Talk me to sleep, Ross.”

“What?”

“Well I know you’re not gonna rub my back, or sing me something. So talk me to sleep.”

Brendon’s right about the first, at least. Still, Ryan has talked a lot. He’s talked out. “About what?”

“Whatever you want. You’re taking creative writing, you can tell me a story or something.” The last few words are garbled around a yawn, but Ryan can decipher them.

“I think I love him,” he says around a copycat yawn. They’re definitely contagious. It’s not what Ryan meant to say. He was going to start with a classic once upon a time, then segue into a story about what the other dwarves in the mine that weren’t the famous seven thought about Snow White. He must be more tired than he thought, for his self-censorship skills to be so broken.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to be surprised? I can feign shock like a motherfucker.”

“Feign? Seriously?” That’s more of a him word, not a Brendon word.

“Fuck you, I’ve got a vocabulary. But yeah. I can pretend to be shocked if you want me to, but me and Brent have wondered forever why I’m always the one that has to make out with him after practice. And I’m pretty sure the Smiths all wonder why you haven’t debauched their precious son slash valiant older brother.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Seriously? It’s just the trans thing?”

“Just?” If he wasn’t staring at the watermarked ceiling with determination he’d be glaring at Brendon. There’s really no _just_ about it.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to trivialise your shit. But we thought there was a _reason_ for it. Like your dad, or something.”

“Being transgendered is a reason, Brendon. It’s blatantly false advertising. I can’t kiss him and like it, and have him like it, when he’s gay and thinks he’s kissing a boy and he isn’t.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think gender counts, with kissing. Like I heard that Gerard Way and Bert Mccracken from The Used were kissing on tour this summer, and I’m pretty sure they’re not gay. They don’t look gay.”

Ryan has to break position to sit up and glare at him. He really doesn’t want this to be a one step forward two steps back situation, where Brendon’s cool with him being trans but thinks every gay guy has to wear pink t-shirts like Spencer, or have a lilt in their voice like Emmett Honeycutt. “How does gay look?”

“Like me?” Brendon replies, propping himself up on one elbow.

“You’re not-”

“Why do you think I got kicked out?”

“Heathenly music?”

“Dude, we played at my church once. It wasn’t the music. I mean I don’t think I’m _gay_ gay. What I really like is someone pretty in a lot of makeup, and it’s like a surprise where you’re gonna feel lumps when you step in for a kiss.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re bi, and into androgyny?”

“I guess? I never really labelled it?”

Ryan wishes every move he made wasn’t labelled. But all it takes is crossing his arms and the limbs sitting flat against his chest for the big Trans sign to flash in his head.

“So that’s what I am, and what I like. But for you and Spencer. What if he, like, decided he wasn’t all gay, could you kiss him then?”

“Decided?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. If he was cool with you being a girl, could you kiss him then?”

“I said love, didn’t I?”

“Then I’ll tell _you_ a story.” Brendon waits for Ryan to lie back down, then starts the story of the drummer lad that falls in love with the maiden cursed to appear as a huntsman. Ryan isn’t usually one for folk stories, but he has to give Brendon points for trying.

They’ve only been sleeping a few hours before Brendon jostles him awake. A misplaced elbow Ryan could understand, considering the slim mattress. Brendon standing up and leaving for the tiny kitchen nook to start making coffee he doesn’t. When he comes back in a minute later to start getting dressed Ryan manages to ask “the fuck? It’s dawn.”

“Health nuts like morning smoothies before yoga. I've got to get to the store by seven.”

Ryan makes an executive decision to be sympathetic later. For now he needs more sleep. He’s back asleep before Brendon’s out the door.

The next time Ryan opens his eyes he’s alone and the sun is streaming through the window. Rather than put curtains on his extensive list of things to eventually buy - panels of fabric are surprisingly expensive - Brendon’s got his clothes over the curtain rod. According to him it serves a double purpose. Drip drying clothes saves quarters en masse for laundry, and they make great curtains. Ryan couldn’t say how much money Brendon’s saving, but they’re shit curtains.

A look at his cellphone says 2:53. Considering travel time, Ryan’s got more than enough time to get a pizza. For the last week he’s been having a pineapple craving strong enough to kill a bear. He’s positive that Brendon’s currently in the off position of his on and off vegetarian thing, so ham is looking like a distinct possibility too. He’ll probably get some wings too, or a second pizza. Something that tastes good cold for Brendon to eat after he’s left. Ryan’s not the only one that attempts to supplement Brendon’s food stocks, but he likes to think he’s the best at not making it seem like charity. Spencer’s food always comes in tupperware containers, and nothing says ‘my mom is concerned about your health’ more than tupperware. Brent is on the opposite side of the spectrum. When he comes over he brings five bags of chips or doritos or pretzels, and then forgets to take whatever isn’t eaten home with him. Delicious, but hardly healthy.

Getting the pizza takes about a billion more years than it should. The first time around they get the order wrong. Some mistakes are forgivable. For example, Ryan wouldn’t really care about having the wrong kind of meat on it, bacon bits or pepperoni are both as good as ham. But having a thin crust from the organic dough is just about the furthest you can get from cheese filled crust. Ryan knows from experience the organic dough crusts taste like eating burned saltines. There’s no way he’s paying for something practically inedible. The second time they seem to forget he’s there under the onslaught of eat in orders. Just as he’s about to throw his hands up and walk out they call his name and he’s able to leave.

It’s momentarily confusing when he tries to unlock the door and ends up locking it. Then he hears the voices coming from inside and realises that Brendon and whomever he brought home with him left the door open for him. Ryan reunlocks it and walks in.

Brendon has brought home Spencer. It makes sense. Spencer knows Brendon’s work schedule better than Ryan, he’s the one that always coordinates practice times between Ryan’s evening classes and intense project due dates and Brendon’s shifts and Brent’s near constant dates with his girlfriend. No doubt he figured out Ryan was staying with him, and decided to tag along home with Brendon.

They’re making out. That makes sense too. The apartment smells like pot, and with a quick twist of his head he can see the craftily made aqualung still dripping on the counter beside the sink full of water. It’s what happens when Spencer gets stoned. Ryan outing himself doesn’t magically change the structure of the world, he is not the center of the universe. It makes sense.

It would just be nice if it didn’t hurt so much.

“Hey. I have pizza.” Ryan waves the boxes enticingly. There’s no point in lying to himself, he knows he’s doing it in hopes of distracting them, even as much as the Buck Up And Deal part of him scorns him for the action.

“It’s like the you of half an hour from now knew you’d have the munchies, so you sent yourself back in time in order to have pizza when you needed it the most!”

Ryan can’t help himself. He laughs. “Yeah, Brendon. That’s exactly what it’s like. I risked unravelling the universe by playing with time to get pineapple pizza.”

Spencer wrinkles his nose. “Pineapple? Really?”

“Shut up Smith. Did you buy the pizzas? No. He did. So he picks the toppings.”

“But pineapple?”

“Then don’t eat it, moron. Speaking for myself, gimme!”

Ryan tosses the boxes into the middle of the floor beside him. Brendon reaches down from the loveseat to flips the lid open and grabs a piece. Spencer does the same, the big drama queen. There was never a question of him passing up pizza.

“Spencer says you guys smoked last night, so he packed me a bowl.” It’s another thing they do; trading off on buying the weed, letting Brendon mooch off whoever has the gram bag. Currently it’s mostly Spencer and Brent with the stash. They get allowances and don’t have to pay for college.

“You have much of the gram left?’

“I bought three, so yeah. I’m good for a bit yet.”

They eat mostly in silence, befitting starving teenagers. Ryan’s okay with it. As far as he can tell it’s not an awkward silence. Things will get noisier when they start playing Mario Party on the ancient N64 Spencer gave Brendon when he bought the Xbox.

The silence ends when Brendon finishes his last cheese stuffed crust and then topples onto the carpet, knee crushing the oily lid of the open box. Before Ryan can ask if the pot really fucked up his equilibrium that badly, Brendon’s got a hand on his neck and another on his shoulder. He’s kissing Ryan, passionately. It’s a good kiss, apart from the way he tastes like mozzarella. It’s the first kiss Ryan’s ever had where he doesn’t feel like a liar. After a second he goes along with it. It’s amazing how much better kissing is when he doesn’t feel like he’s misleading the other half of the embrace.

Spencer’s obviously not as happy. He kicks Brendon in the back, and it’s enough to nearly knock him and Ryan over. Physical outrage isn’t enough, a second later he shouts “Brendon! You asshole!”

“What? I’ve been informed I’m bisexual with androgyny leanings. That means I can kiss whoever I goddamn want.”

“Except for the guy I’ve had a crush on forever!”

“He’s a girl! Wait. She’s a girl. Uh, pronoun check. You want she and her, right?”

“No. I read online it’s ze.”

“Uh no. Ryan’s a girl, girls get she and her.”

Ryan appreciates them both arguing for him, but they’re both wrong. “No. Not until I’ve earned it.”

“Earned it? Like you’re not girl enough yet?”

Spencer chimes in “that seems sort of internalised transphobical of you.”

“That’s not a word.” This is why Spencer isn’t the lyricist.

“Whatever. I read about it and it’s bad. Like did you know that people have been murdered over being trans?”

“Yes. I did know that people want to kill me because I’m different. Thanks.”

“Sorry.” He does look like he feels bad about it. Ryan would bet twenty bucks Spencer found out about Brandon Teena then went into the living room and started shouting about the injustice. “I just mean what I read was shitty enough, you shouldn’t do it to yourself too.”

“If you did spend all night reading you should know the transgendered person gets to decide what works for them. And I’m a girl trapped by this body, and society’s expectations. When I start doing shit to fix it and feel better, I’ll have earned ‘she’. Until then...”

“I think that’s stupid but it’s your choice. It’s your life. Are you gonna tell Brent?”

Ryan can’t say he’s ever thought about it. “Do you think I should?”

“He’ll probably just ignore it, right up until the moment you and his girlfriend are exchanging lingerie recommendations.”

Spencer nods. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“You got something to say about the caveman possessiveness, Spencer Smith?”

It’s Brendon who asks, but Spencer is looking at Ryan when he says “I want to kiss you.”

“I thought just Brendon smoked?”

“He did. I’m sober and I want to kiss you. You made me bi. And one day I might be straight, once you transition all the way.”

Ryan wants to protest that’s not how orientation works. He should, it would be the right thing to do. But he’s been waiting years for Spencer to kiss him with full knowledge, and he thought he’d have to wait forever. “I want you to kiss me too.”

The reverent silence that is the happiest moment of Ryan’s existence - above even Pete talking to him on AIM, because when it comes down to it, even that is wrapped up in the lie cloaking his entire life - is broken with Brendon calling them both morons. “So kiss, already. I’m gonna go saran wrap the leftover pizza. Don’t feel like you have to stop when I come back. I’ll enjoy it as much as you do.”

Brendon tromps off, cardboard in hand, and Spencer joins him on the floor. Ryan doesn’t lean in immediately. He just wants to sit and smile for a minute. Bask. He’s not sure how the thing he’s wanted most for years was the first thing he got when he told the truth. He’s just happy it is.


End file.
